


Sing Our Broken Song

by adamantina



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-07 04:12:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3160727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adamantina/pseuds/adamantina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Dean closes his eyes and wonders how they got there, how the two kids who ran after each other all sweaty in Bobby’s yard and did spitting contests and then fought in the backseat of the Impala got there – intertwined in one another, physically and mentally, influenced by each other to the point that even separating them wouldn’t be enough to make them two whole individuals anymore."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sing Our Broken Song

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Sing our broken song](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/92612) by adamantina. 



> This is my second try translating my Italian fics to English. It's not beta-ed, so if you find any mistakes do not hesitate telling me!

**_Sing our broken song_ **

Sometimes Sam and Dean kiss.

It doesn’t happen _that_ often – just sometimes, y’know, like when Sam risks being choked by the latest fucking witch, or when Dean is an awesome enough brother to concede him first shower even though they are both covered in a sticky substance that comes from a not-yet-identified monster.

There’s also been that one time in a hotel room in Las Vegas, the one with just one huge king bed and a mind-blowing Jacuzzi, and why wasting all the water that’s needed to fill that almost-pool? One must think about what’s good for the planet, right? Sharing will work, there’s room for both, and if they happen to be closer than they should, it’s just ‘cause the tub is better on that side. And then, that time they had drunk a bottle of fancy wine and so they were drunk. Therefore, it doesn’t count.

Sometimes Sam and Dean kiss, then, and it’s not that big of a deal. It’s just another side of their complicated life. Waking up, finding information about weird accidents, crossing the US by car, desecrating graves, setting bodies on fire, running away from cops, saving people, hunting things, kissing your brother, the goddamned family business.

And anyway it’s not as if they are _boyfriends_ , damn it. Dean enjoyed every second with that delicious blonde who worked as a bartender in a place in… where was it? Denver? He doesn’t remember what she was called, but she had amazing boobs. If Sam avoided looking at him for three days after that and made him feel like shit, it’s just because he is a damn delicate princess, y’know, and anyway Sam fucked a stripper too, a few months ago. Even though he got back to the motel later and Dean pressed him violently against the wall and proceeded to kiss him with enough rage to make him forget even the little bitch’s face. Just saying.

It’s not Dean’s fault, really. He didn’t start it. Or maybe he did, he doesn’t really remember. It’s been so long. In his mind there are still some faded memories of summer afternoon spent with a barely fifteen-year-old Sammy at the lake, somewhere in a town in the middle of nowhere like a thousand others, kissing languidly under the blazing sun, with water drops drying on their uncovered skin. But there are also older, more innocent ones, and remembering the very first is an impossible task.

Anyway, they could also do without. When Sam went to Stanford, Dean survived perfectly, thank you very much. When they ended up hunting together again, then, he started once more just because it seemed to help Sam. His girlfriend had just been set on fire and the kid needed all the comfort Dean could provide, ok? Dean would like to forget the pain he felt spending entire nights murmuring silly reassurances to his little brother, who was turning around in his bed and whispered Jessica’s name with indescribable angst. Can you blame him?

That is one of the reasons why they share a bed. Well, first of all it’s more comfortable having one of the two beds free, obviously, to throw weapons and clothes and duffle bags on it. And then Sam needs it, when he wakes up in the middle of the night with cold sweat on his forehead and a scream on his lips. Dean then murmurs something insignificant – _shh, it’s alright, Sammy, everything’s fine, go back to sleep_ – and he strokes Sam’s back with his hand, up and down, reassuring him. Then he leaves it there, but just because he usually ends up falling asleep before he remembers to remove it.

They receive weird looks. It happens more often than Dean would like. It’s not just the assistants at the morgue or the waitresses at diners or the clerks at motels who ask “ _a king or two queens?_ ”. That doesn’t bother Dean too much: people can think what they want, they don’t know they’re brothers, so what? What makes him nervous, though, is Bobby’s look. He observes them with a slightly resigned expression when he thinks they won’t notice. And then there’s Ellen, who throws out a joke about the fact that only one of the beds was slept in, that morning at the Roadhouse. And finally, of course, there’s John.

John’s a whole different matter. Dean feels his heart rate quicken and his throat close just thinking about it. John furrows his brow every time he sees Dean with a hand on Sam’s shoulder, or when they sit next to each other in a booth at lunch. It’s been like this for a few years. Dean will never forget the panic he felt when a sixteen-year-old Sam and him were almost busted while they were lazily making out on the bed, while John was showering. John had come to the point where he had stopped them from sharing a bed – _you’re grown up, boys, and Sammy needs a little independence._ Dean trusts his father, he’d follow him to Hell and back without asking questions, but he also knows that John can’t understand. Even though he was the one who pushed them towards each other, ever since he put Sammy in a four-year-old kid’s arms and told him to take him to safety, he can’t understand the consequences completely. That’s okay. Dean doesn’t completely understand them either.

Sometimes Sam and Dean kiss, and sometimes they have sex.

To his defense, Dean can say he wasn’t the one who started it – with certainty, this time. He also tried saying no, at first, because Sam was still underage and his fucking _little brother_ , but Dean is just a man (a boy, back then) and Sam has always been relentless. Maybe it could also have something to do with the fact that the mere thought of _anyone else_ getting that close to Sammy made him feel like stabbing the aforementioned anyone else in the stomach with a knife. But that was normal, wasn’t it? Sam was young and vulnerable and Dean has always been overprotective.

It doesn’t happen often that they have sex – but when it happens, it’s memorable. Memorable like “broken-bed-and-ripped-shirts”. Or memorable like (but that only happened once, really) “official-complaints-from-the-motel-keeper-for-the-noise”.

It happens when Dean is a jerk and shamelessly flirts with the waitress that’s serving them dinner, for example. That’s an a-hundred-percent surefire way of making Sam, as soon as they got back to the motel room, grab his hair, force his head back and leave a visible sign on his neck, a mark of possession, and then proceed to cover the rest of his body with the tracks of his passage. Dean complains, because his brother is as possessive as a four-year-old girl with her Barbie and – _no_ , Dean would be the Barbie in that comparison and it’s better not to complete that thought, thanks.

It also happens when a fucking ghost slams Sam’s head against a tombstone and he blacks out. As soon as Dean’s sure the ghost’s dead, for real this time, and that Sam isn’t concussed, he proceeds to drag him to the closest indoor place, which is usually the Impala. After that, he pushes him in the backseat on his hands and knees and he lets out all the remaining tension and adrenaline. Not that Sam minds, judging by the sounds he makes that Dean will tease him forever for, as soon as he has enough breath for it.

It also happens as a game, when they fight for the remote like when they were eight and twelve years old. Back then, though, it never ended in a wrestling match to the death to decide who gets to top. Dean is stronger, _always_ , but sometimes he lets Sammy win to cheer him up. Poor kid, he deserves it too, even though obviously Dean likes it better when things go the other way and he doesn’t like to _catch_ (and whatever Sam has to say about it, he’s _lying_ ).

Sometimes Sam and Dean kiss, sometimes they have sex, and sometimes they make love.

You will _never_ hear those words coming out of Dean’s mouth – really, not even under torture. And yet, sometimes Dean comes really close to losing his life, and Sam just needs to make sure he’s there with him, safe and sound and still alive.

It happens that it’s Sam’s first time and Dean finally decides to let him have his way, and he does everything in his power to show him how good it can be. How wonderful Sam is and how loved.

It happens that it’s Dean’s eighteenth birthday and that John’s away on a hunt and he can’t call ( _he didn’t forget_ , he’s just dealing with important stuff, _he saves lives, Sam!_ ), and Sam decides to remind his brother that he is not alone and he never will be.

It happens that Sam then changes his mind about that and he is going to leave for Stanford and looking for something tangible to take with him, something that allows him to get over the shock of being truly alone for the first time in his life. And that Dean, death in his heart and all the words he would like to say stuck in his throat, can’t do anything but allow Sam to take _everything_ he needs, leaving him empty and confused when the clothes are back on and the bus has left.

It happens that they see each other for the first time in many years and that Jess is gone and that Dean has missed Sam so much he thought he wouldn’t make it and that Sam is mourning and that he notices that one of the two voids in his heart is finally filling in again.

In those moments, each caress is slow and measured, every touch takes their breath away, and Sam and Dean look in each other’s eyes all the time and Dean can’t grasp just how lucky he is.

It’s those times when they end up cuddling, later, and Dean would obviously like to get up and shower and go sleep in the other bed _by himself_ , but Sam is warm and comfy and he’s the perfect pillow. Dean huffs and rolls his eyes when his brother manhandles him on his side, settling in behind him, an arm over his body and a hand on his stomach, open and protective, one leg between Dean’s and his nose in Dean’s hair.

And if Sam murmurs two words in his ear, well, Dean _has_ to answer, doesn’t he? In those moments, Dean closes his eyes and wonders how they got there, how the two kids who ran after each other all sweaty in Bobby’s yard and did spitting contests and then fought in the backseat of the Impala got there – intertwined in one another, physically and mentally, influenced by each other to the point that even separating them wouldn’t be enough to make them two whole individuals anymore.

Then, about a year later, in a ruinous shack, his clothes still wet from the rain, Dean looks at Sam’s unmoving body, a deadly wound in his back, his heart motionless and his eyes empty. And when he decides to make that last step, to get out of the room where Sam is lying dead and get to the first crossroads to sell his soul – all of himself and all he has left – Dean isn’t thinking about that.

He isn’t thinking about those times Sam and him kissed, or about the times they had sex, or about the times they made love. Dean thinks about the way they bumped their shoulders when they brushed their teeth in the mornings. He thinks of the miles they travelled silently in the Impala, of the knowing looks during a dangerous hunt, of the beer bottles Dean opened for both of them with a Swiss army knife, of the nights spent in a motel watching old movies on the TV, Sam’s head resting on his shoulder. He thinks of all the things that make them brothers, friends, soulmates.

And Dean doesn’t hesitate at all to seal with a kiss his own eternal damnation.


End file.
